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Chapter Ten
The Masque of the Red Death Inspired by Edgar Allen Poe's Masterpiece A Story Collaboration Written by Kiara Phoenix, Bridgette Montello, Jessica Jean, Sara Dombrowski, Britny Stewart, and Raymee Sullivan Chapter 10 This chapter is told in the perspective of Sara Dombrowski. WARNING: This is an everything-goes fan fiction. Fiction may contain violence, strong language, and sexual themes. You have been forewarned. __________________________________________________________________________________________ Waldo walked me through the throng of yuppies in bright gay costumes. His grip was firm on my shoulder. Snarling I pushed him away and hissed "I can walk myself, thank you." It seemed that I had finally reached my limit on cheek. It was as if the ever calm Butler had lost his chilling demeanor. All I saw was his hand as it swung at me from out of nowhere, and landed across my face with a loud and painful 'SMACK.' Eyes watering in pain, I cradled the right side of my face. That didn't feel like a slap, I'd been in enough fights to know what a 'bitch slap' was. That was either a well disguised punch or the slap of a hand made of stone. Slowly I looked him in the eyes. The rage, it was gone, he had returned to his cold conduct, but he was still frightening. Despite his evils, I had a new respect for Waldo. He wasn't just some pussy after all. He was a demon, not as bad as his master but still a fucking monster. Taking a deep breath, I allowed Waldo to steer me down a long narrow hall. Letting go of my shoulder, he strolled to door and twisted the handle. Holding it open, he waited for me to enter. Gulping, I walked into the gloom. The door shut with a silent 'click,' encasing me in complete darkness. Squinting, I attempted to adjust to the murky atmosphere. Suddenly the lights flickered on. The sight that I was greeted with caused me to open my mouth in a silent scream. Before me lay Jessica and Britny; out cold and unmoving. Eyes wide I spun around, acting on pure instinct. Shoving up the folds of my dress, I snatched the hidden butterfly knife. Behind me stood a middle aged woman, hair black at night and tied into a posh ponytail. Her eyes seemed dead as she went to dodge the blade. I screamed in rage and made a mad swipe at her hand. Blood dripped on the floor as the steel managed to catch and slice her palm. Her eyes remained dull and lifeless, despite the fact that she was bleeding a good amount. It made me wonder if this woman was capable of feeling pain. Shaking my head I dismissed the question, I couldn't be distracted right now. But it was too late; the woman had ghosted behind me and grabbed my wrist. Twisting my arm behind my back, she forced me to let go of the knife. "YOU BLOODY FUCKING BITCH! I'LL FUCKING MURDER YOU!!!!!" Those were my last words before she shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth. The smell of chloroform invaded my nostrils, my eyes fluttered, and slowly, I succumbed to unconsciousness. _____________________________________________________________________________________ I began to regain some form of awareness. But the drug was still heavy on my body, the only part of me that could even budge, were my eyelids. Which I forced to blink several times, that took a lot of effort. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was sitting in a chair, not only that, but I was bound to the thing as well. Scratch that, not bound, I could move from side to side. I attempted to move my arms, only to find that I couldn't. An unshakable fear washed over me like cold water. I couldn't even scream. My eyes shot open, all the fuzziness of the images gone. Looking down my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. My heart sped up; I could feel it pounding against my chest like a jack hammer. I was trapped in a shockingly white buckled jacket, oh God, a straight jacket. The only sounds that passed my lips were muffled screams, revealing that my mouth had been taped shut. I was losing it; I rocked back and forth, side to side, trying to escape the confinement. Tears of frustration and panic streaked my face. There were three things in life that unnerved me, terrified me, needles, vulnerability, and confined spaces. If anyone were to put me in a situation where I couldn't move my arms, all forms of sanity would be lost on me. I shut my eyes in an attempt to forget the situation. The sound of malicious laughter penetrated my ears like the screeching of an un-tuned violin. Gritting my teeth, I looked upon my newest fear. Laughing acidic eyes bore into mine. All panic disappeared for a moment, and was replaced by a quiet but incensed rage. He held a clipboard in his hands. For a second his attention left me, as it was diverted to the papers. Which he flipped through, his eyes alight with interest and cruel humor. Finally he spoke, listing out bits of information. "Sara Dombrowski, age 18, soon to be college student, blah blah, boring, also boring, hmmm part time actress. Oh, how adorable, wants to become a script writer. At this he glanced at me and cackled. Putting down the clipboard, he walked around the chair, holding my gaze. Despite the restraints I followed his eyes, turning to keep him in my sights. Like the prey watching the hunter. He had my attention now, but I was remembering that I was unable to move. The fear slowly returned and my breathing sped up. Seeing this, Death smiled. Leaning forward he plucked a strand of unkempt hair unveiling my un-pierced ear "My little prim donna" He purred, his tongue lulled out, playing with the shell of my ear, flinching away I shrieked in disgust. He was dreadfully close. His bony fingers tangled into my hair and yanked my head back. I cried out in pain. Something glinted in the light, my attention zeroed in on a hypodermic needle, which was waved playfully in my line of vision. I gritted my teeth, in an attempt to remain silent. Staying the needle against the nape of my neck, he took a deep breath; as if he could smell the fear. "Claustrophobic and can't stand needles." He relinquished his grip. Smirking, he walked around to stand in front of me. I finally noticed the other two people in the room. The fucking butler: Waldo and that dead eyed bitch, we hadn't been properly introduced, so I dubbed her 'The Bitch.' It seemed fitting since she was working for such a sick fuck. At least I wasn't sniveling like a little girl anymore; I suppose that having something really bloody terrifying cancels out all other fears. He continued to smile, lazily he held up the needle. Waldo took it without order and exchanged the thing for something else. Cold sweat dotted my forehead as I recognized the object as my knife. Flicking it open, he eyed the blade, musing. "Such a breathtaking combination, I think." This earned a smile from Waldo, who spoke for the first time since I had woken up. "Indeed Master." Drawing closer, Death knelt down to my level, holding the point of the knife to my throat. Tears silently began to run their course down my cheeks, as I tried to distance myself from the point. The knife pricked my neck, causing a couple pearls of blood to drip onto the colorless jacket. He leaned forward, his foul breath dancing on my cheeks. It reeked of death (ha ironic) and decay. "You've been very naughty, Kitty Cat." A friend of mine gave me that nickname, a sweet innocent term of endearment, until now. Jaw set, I fixed my mouth into a grim line. Smirking he blew into my ear, playing it off as sensual. "I should punish you for causing such trouble; maybe show that foul little mouth of yours, some" he paused, chuckling to himself, giving me a wink that caused my blood to run cold "…Other tricks?" This time I really did gag, I could feel the bile rising in my throat. I shut my eyes tight. "Look at me!" I shook my head, I was terrified, he knew it, I knew it… They all knew it. I didn't want to look at him; the still darkness under my eyelids was too comforting. A gentle hand graced my tear stained cheek, suddenly claws dug into the skin, a deep animalistic growl escaped his throat; Death did not like to be denied. "I SAID LOOK AT ME!!!!" My eyes shot open and I looked at him, dead on. His grin was wicked, displaying a set of jagged yellowing teeth. "Such lovely eyes you have look Waldo! Have you ever seen such color, a mix of greens, blues, and yellows, enchanting….I believe a certain gentleman once said, 'like the ocean clashing with the raging heavens.'" Andrew! His face flashed across my mind. He said that, oh Christ Andrew, I couldn't let him down, he needed me. How did I brush off those compliments before? He had been so sweet to me; he knew when to protect me when no one saw signs of hurt. For the first time since I woke, I attempted to speak. Smiling, Death grabbed the tape and ripped it off my face. I yelped feeling a layer of skin detach from my mouth. "Sorry, my little Kitty Cat, what was that?" Snarling, I conjured up a giant spit ball and hawked it right into his face. Death leapt back in disgust. Seeing the spit clinging to his face like mucus, my chest swelled with satisfaction, I felt proud of my work, and grateful to Jack for giving a spitting lesson in 'Titanic.' I had forgotten all about the straight jacket, I had forgotten all about the needle in Waldo's hand. Taking deep steadying breaths; I worked to calm my fears, as well as the urge to do something stupid. (Well that was too late, but hell I could do something, dare I say, stupider?) My breath murmured through my teeth. Opening my mouth I shrieked. "GO. FUCK. YOURSELF!" The insult hung in the air, leaving everything in silence. It seemed to resound. But it didn't last long. The claustrophobia was starting to rear its ugly head. Death took notice of this. He could see the fear creeping back into my eyes. I gritted my teeth in an attempt to not fight against the buckles. It was the only way to stay calm. I just had to keep thinking of vast open places, away from the confinement of this literal Hell. Wiping away the spit, Death smirked. "You also have another fear, if I'm not mistaken…." He let the comment soak in; slowly I peeked up at him. Seeing the look on my face, he extended his hand and Waldo handed him the clipboard. "2005 November, patient Sara Dombrowski, exhibits signs of uncontrollable rage, as well as minor depression." How did he get those?! Death continued to read. "2006, December, patient Sara Dombrowski has been sent to hospital, due to extreme loss of blood. Looking up from my files, he quirked a nonexistent eyebrow. "Shall I continue?" When I didn't dignify him with a reply, he smirked. Extending his free hand back, he gestured for the woman to give him something, that something was a video cassette. "I also managed to get a hold of some home videos from your therapy sessions." Slowly, I shook my head; I didn't want to hear anymore, we both knew the video revealed the screaming, crying, confused child that had been me so many years ago. Smirking, Death turned the video tape over in his hands. "Such a strange fear you have. You have two that are labeled, and yet this one doesn't have a name. You keep secrets in that broken little heart of yours. You hide away everything that makes you weak, and you fear anyone who can tear down that wall of protection…. I plan to blow it sky high." At this he knelt down and grabbed at my legs, I didn't fight him, it seemed so pointless now. In one graceful movement, he shoved the legs of the striped pants up. His clawed fingers ran against age old spider webbed cuts that I had long ago etched into my skin. The claw of his index finger glowed; it burned like hell, causing me to whimper in pain. Pleased that he had managed to rein me in, Death stood and turned his back to me, I stared at the ground, not daring to look at him again. There were three hundred tiles on the floor. Licking my lips, I questioned. "Where are the others?" Leering, Death glanced over his shoulder. "Miss Phoenix, Miss Montello and Miss Jean are awaiting you in another room; the others will join you four very soon." After a long and uncomfortable pause, he moved to another subject. "Ever heard of the famed story 'The Masque of the Red Death' by Edgar Allen Poe, sweetness?" Slowly, I nodded, that made him smile. "Of course, how could I forget, it's a personal favorite of yours! Well as you know in the story, there are seven rooms; the first six rooms will each contain a challenge. Each challenge is decided on each of your fears. One fear in one room, exactly. The seventh is the final stage, where all of you share a common fear. What that fear is…you'll have to figure out." My head snapped upward, he lied to us. "That wasn't part of the deal!" The accusation made Death laugh. "Do you really think I am the type to let you all go so easily, where's the fun in that?" I fought the urge to spit on him again. Two faced shit! With a final smirk, Death turned to Waldo and gave his orders. "Please escort Kitty Cat to the small room." Turning to The Bitch, he gave a second order. "And Lenore, bring Miss Stewart in." With Waldo's help, which is very hard to resist without the use of arms, I was able to stand. He walked me down a narrow hallway. I saw Britny being dragged across the floor as we left the room. I tried to go to her, but Waldo kept a firm grip on my shoulders. I really wanted my knife back, not that it would do me any good. We stopped at the entrance to one of the many rooms. Waldo opened the door, with an ancient key. Taking me into the room, I was greeted by three sites for sore eyes. Kiara, Bridgette and Jessica, they were all sitting on the floor. When they saw me, they looked terrified but relieved. Waldo sat me down on the floor next to Jessica. He left without a word. Kiara finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, sounding shocked by my subdued manner, which was the opposite of the Sara they knew. "Sara, are you alright?" Biting my lip, I attempted to divert my attention. It didn't work. It wasn't long until I started curling into upright fetal position, rocking back and forth, like a borderline schizophrenic; my breathing was speeding up to the point of hysterical gasps. The unreasonable terror had rendered me mute. Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I jumped in surprise. Jessica looked at me, her innocent blue eyes boring into mine. "Sara?" Taking deep breaths I tried to speak, but the words fell dead on my lips. Bridgette came over, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. Understanding the cause of my terror, she looked at Kiara. "We need to get this thing off her, now!" Hearing the scuffle of feet and the clink of the metal buckles, I closed my eyes. Finally I felt my arms loosen. Ignoring the severe cramping of my limbs, I unfolded my arms from the X position across my stomach. Tears of relief ran silently down my cheeks. Ripping the jacket off, I threw it across the room. Watching it disappear from the weak lamp light. Sniffling for a few minutes, I wiped my nose on the sleeve of the ancient psych. Ward pajamas. Looking up at my companions, a ghost of a smile daunted my features, appreciative. "Th-thank…" I found myself unable to finish the sentence… He came so close t-t-to breaking me, so close to driving me to the outer edge. No! It wasn't going to be that easy for him; I had spent years being a target. And I wasn't going to be one now, not again… Not. Ever! Wiping away the sheen of tears from my cheeks, I looked at my three companions. "Thank you." Looking down at my feet, I mumbled. "I'm sorry." Hearing a scoff, I looked up. Seeing that it had come from Kiara, "You don't need to apologize." Shaking my head I replied. "But I am." Hearing movement, I looked up into a pair of kind brown eyes. Despite the stupidity of how I felt, I was ashamed. My fears are idiotic, that's why they're called phobias; they're literally defined as irrational fears. A pair of stripe clad arms embraced me. I was too stunned to react, Kiara pulled away. "We're going to be fine, we can beat him. I know we can."At her words of comfort, I smiled slightly. "God be with us then.